


Perfection

by aadarshinah



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: F/M, POV First Person, Partner Betrayal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-25
Updated: 2011-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-24 23:13:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aadarshinah/pseuds/aadarshinah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knows better than to wish for happy endings anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfection

**Author's Note:**

> "I remember when we were gambling to win everybody else said better luck next time.  
> I don't wanna bend like the bad girls bend, I just wanna be your friend, is it ever gonna be enough?"

This is the beginning of the end.

I know it.

I can see it in your eyes. In the way you stand just a little bit straighter when she enters the room. In all the little things that, individually, don't matter, but, together, mean so much, so very much.

I shouldn't have believed you. It was stupid to think you were right. That we could fight. That it was possible to win. We're warriors, yes. Monsters. Beasts. Supernatural soldiers. But we need things to fight. Flesh to tear. Blood to spill. You can't fight an idea. No matter how terrible that idea is.

"I love you," you said. "I don't love her. Not that way. Not like that. Not in any way that matters."

But that was a lie.

Oh, sure, it was easy when she was a little thing. Even you couldn't love a child. Be a father to her, a brother, a friend – yes. A lover? No. It was so very easy. And you could come to me, whispering sweet words that I so wanted to believe, and, for a while, did. And things seemed perfect.

But perfection is its own lie, a patina that hides all the scars and secrets writhing under the surface.

I should've been smarter. Should've known better. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice...

You started spending more time at the Cullens. I should've suspected, but said nothing.

Then you started to lie about exactly how much time you spent there. I should've known, but didn't. Not at first. Not until my brother mentioned you being there when you were supposed-

But it doesn't matter now.

How can it matter? This thing between you and her, it's ordained. It's unstoppable. It's – it's a merry fucking order from on high. Love at first sight. With her.

And not with me.

You grew to love me. We fell into loving in bits and pieces, the fighting and emotions and pain slowly becoming more than petty arguments and inflamed passions, until-

Perfection.

What does that mean, though, our so-called perfection, when you come home smelling like her when you were supposed to be at work, and her scent's all over you – in your sweat – on your breath – on every fucking inch of your skin? That it isn't so easy when she looks sweet-sixteen and prettier than anyone you'd find in a magazine. That there are some things that can't be changed, no matter how hard you try, no matter how God-damn hard you love someone or you think they love you; that some things are just fated just have to happen, whatever their reasons.

That you're just another man who can't keep it in his pants, no better than the rest of all the asses out there who make promises and vows and come home every night for dinner until suddenly its one too many "late nights at work" and "drinks with the boys" and everything you've worked for becomes-

"I love you. It was a mistake. Couldn't help myself. I don't love her. Not like I love you. Help me, Leah," you say. "Help me fight it."

Like we haven't been fighting it all these years.

But it's the same thing again, the next time. Because there's always a next time. You can't keep away, and she won't leave. She'll never leave. Not until your hers. Loving her that way. In the only way that matters.

It's been ten years. I've fought for you every step of the way, with fierce kisses and loving words and long, slow nights and hot, impassioned afternoons. You've made me feel things that no other living being has ever made me feel. Happiness. Contentment. Love.

But there is only so much I can do.

We cannot escape fate. Not you. Not me. Not her.

She hasn't won yet, you see. But I've already lost.

I'm already lost.

**Author's Note:**

> "More and more and more and more: is it ever gonna be enough?"  
> Metric "Gold Guns Girls"


End file.
